


roots in my dreamland

by blackthorns



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Victorian Era AU, based on ivy by t swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackthorns/pseuds/blackthorns
Summary: Betty looks down at their hands, catching sight of Archie’s wedding ring pressed against her fingers. This is wrong; they’re not supposed to be together like this, not allowed to be together like this. For God’s sake, her own wedding is tomorrow.
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Comments: 23
Kudos: 68





	roots in my dreamland

**Author's Note:**

> so. the first time i ever listened to ivy by taylor swift, i immediately thought it sounded like the soundtrack for an angsty victorian affair. why does my brain work like this? i couldn't tell you. i've probably watched little women one too many times. 
> 
> because i'm insane i naturally had to write a fic using this concept for everyone's favorite cheaters. i also threw in some easter eggs for other taylor songs because she told me herself she writes all of them about barchie. finally, big shoutout to the barchie babes for hyping me up, i hope you guys enjoy <3

_I’d live and die for moments that we stole_

_On begged and borrowed time_

_So tell me to run_

_Or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become_

_And drink my husband’s wine_

_Riverdale, Spring 1856_

Betty Cooper decides she wants to marry Archie Andrews when they’re eight years old.

It’s a day in late April, the weather just beginning to hint at summer. Archie challenges Betty to a race home from the schoolhouse, and she ends up sprawled across the grass in the Andrews’ lawn, laughing as she tries to catch her breath. Archie flops down beside her, neither of them concerned with the grass stains they’ll have to scrub out of their clothes later.

“I won again!” Archie boasts with a grin.

Betty plucks some grass from the ground, flicking it at him. “I’ll win the next one, Arch.” 

The front door of Archie’s house swings open, and Fred Andrews steps outside. “Archie! I’m glad you’re home; your chores aren’t going to do themselves.” He looks over at Betty, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hello, Betty. How are you?”

“Good, Mr. Andrews!” Betty replies, trying not to laugh as she watches Archie pout at the mention of _chores_. His father works as a blacksmith and spends long hours in his shop, leaving Archie to help his mother with the housework and tend to their small array of livestock. Betty helps him sometimes, always jumping at the opportunity to feed their goat, Violet.

“Can I do my chores after supper?” Archie asks, giving his father a pleading look. “I want to spend more time with Betty.”

Fred glances at the front door, turning back to give Archie and Betty a conspiratorial look. “I suppose that will do. But if your mother asks, I never saw you.”

Archie smiles and meets Betty’s eyes. 

“The river?” they ask at the same time, dissolving into giggles.

“Let’s go before my mother walks over and drags me home to do _my_ chores,” Betty says, standing up from the grass. 

Sweetwater River is one of their favorite spots to spend time together. The walk is only a few minutes from both of their homes, and they’ve spent hours sitting at the edge of the water, skipping stones across it.

Today, Betty and Archie run side by side through the trees near the river, their feet kicking up mud from the damp ground. As they reach the water and Betty observes the dirt on her shoes and dress, she can already hear her mother’s reprimands.

_“Elizabeth, it’s not proper for you to be gallivanting about in the mud with a boy. Why don’t you try making friends with some of the girls your age?”_

The truth is that Betty has _tried_ to be friends with the other girls in town, she really has, but she’s never fit in with them like she does with Archie. She sees the unpleasant expressions on their faces when they look at her, no doubt prompted by Cheryl Blossom’s mean comments. Cheryl never misses the chance to criticize Betty for having tangled hair or for wearing one of Polly’s frayed old dresses.

 _“Archie is my friend,”_ Betty tells her mother every time, refusing to budge. _“My_ best _friend.”_

Betty watches as Archie darts ahead, eagerly gathering stones from the riverbank. She steps out of the trees carefully, noting the slickness of the rock under her feet. 

Just as Betty’s about to call out and warn Archie to be careful, she sees him lose his balance, feet sliding out from under him as he slips on the stone. He hits the ground hard, palms scraping across rock in an effort to catch himself.

“Arch!” Betty cries. She rushes down the riverbank, fear for her own safety forgotten.

Archie sits up, wincing. “Ouch.”

“Are you all right?” Betty asks, surveying him.

He nods, but she sees him cradling his hand. “Let me see,” she insists. Archie uncurls his fingers and Betty grimaces at the bloody gash across his palm. “Oh, Archie. Here.” She tugs at the bottom of her skirt until it rips, tearing off a long piece of fabric and wrapping it around his hand.

Betty pats his hand when she’s finished, and Archie grins. “You’re my hero, Betty,” he says.

She feels her cheeks heat up. “It was nothing, Arch. M’always here to help.”

Archie appears to consider something for a second before he stands up, eyes bright. “Wait here,” he says.

Betty frowns. “Wait- why?” 

Archie doesn’t answer. He walks over to the treeline, bending to pluck a dandelion from the dirt. Betty watches him tie the ends together to make a circular shape.

“Father always says we should say thank you when someone helps us. And I’ve thought of something even better,” Archie declares.

“Arch-”

He gets down on one knee in front of Betty, who’s still seated by the water’s edge. She giggles at the overly serious expression on his face.

“Betty, will you marry me?” Archie asks earnestly, presenting the dandelion ring to her. “We can run away into the forest together and we won’t have to worry about _chores_ ever again! I can fight off wild animals if we see them and if either of us gets hurt you’ll know just what to do and-”

“Arch,” Betty interrupts, laughter in her voice. She stands, offering Archie a hand and drawing him up with her.

“This is nice, but we’re too young,” she says, and Archie pouts dramatically. “But,” Betty continues, “Ask me again when we’re eighteen and I’ll say yes.”

Archie’s eyes light up, and it makes Betty’s chest feel funny. “Truly?” he asks.

Betty nods. “I promise. But only if _you_ promise to ask me.” 

“I promise too,” Archie declares with an enthusiastic nod, causing Betty to giggle.

She accepts the dandelion ring on her finger, a reminder of this faraway fairytale promise. They continue on as best friends, just as they were, but Betty knows that one thing has changed.

From that day forward, Archie is not _just_ her best friend. 

_Riverdale, Autumn 1864_

Betty and Archie are fine until Veronica Lodge arrives in town.

Betty wouldn’t go so far as to say their relationship is progressing _well_ , but they’re at least _fine_. She assumes it’ll just take a little longer for Archie to come around, to see her in the same way she’s seen him for the better part of their lives.

Besides, they’re not eighteen yet. They’ve still got time.

Betty holds onto their childhood promises like she’s held onto the dandelion ring all these years, dried out and pressed between the pages of one of her diaries. She allows herself to dream about her future, a future with Archie, until Veronica appears like a princess in her horse drawn carriage, putting cracks in Betty’s perfectly crafted fantasy.

Veronica is wealthy and beautiful, so it’s hardly a surprise when she catches Archie’s eye, drawing him in with her smoldering eyes and high society charm. Betty tries to dislike her. She assumes Veronica will look at her with the same scorn as the other rich girls in town, but instead she’s kind. Friendly, even.

Betty thinks that’s the worst part.

The day of Veronica’s sixteenth birthday party, Betty selects a dress with her heart in her throat. Observing her limited options, she decides on a pale pink gown, one of the only garments she owns that isn’t passed down from Polly. Betty’s not used to being invited to any sort of ball, especially not one hosted by someone like Veronica. The Lodges reside in the Pembrooke manor, the biggest house in the entire town. Betty’s mother doesn’t let her forget this fact as she laces up Betty’s gown.

“We do not usually get these kinds of opportunities, Elizabeth,” Alice says. “If you can form connections with these people, perhaps you’ll be able to do better for yourself than a position as a governess. Perhaps we’ll be able to escape the consequences of your sister’s....indiscretions.”

Betty bristles. Her unwed sister’s pregnancy scandal is the last thing she wants to think about right now. She feels her nails digging into her palms and forces herself to take a deep breath, meeting her mother’s eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” she says. 

~

When Betty walks through the front entrance of the Lodge residence, she swallows a gasp. The manor is enormous and more lavish than she could’ve imagined, certainly a far cry from her family’s simple farmhouse.

Veronica greets her almost instantly. Betty’s caught off guard at first, surprised that Veronica has taken the time to single her out with the flurry of activity going on around them. 

“This dress is lovely, Betty,” Veronica comments, running a gentle hand over Betty’s sleeve.

Betty bites her lip, taking in Veronica’s own perfectly tailored gown. “Oh, thank you,” she manages to say. “Happy birthday.”

Veronica grins, opening her mouth to reply before something behind Betty catches her eye. When Betty glances over her shoulder, her breath catches.

Archie.

Betty’s never seen him like this before. She’s used to Archie in work clothes, dirt streaked across his forehead. The person in front of her couldn’t be more different.

Archie wears a fitted coat and pants with a white shirt underneath, bowtie around his neck and hair smoothed. He looks exactly like someone who would be by Veronica’s side.

Veronica lets out a noise that’s nearly a squeal, rushing forward to greet him. “Archie! I’m so glad you could attend.” She turns back to Betty. “He looks handsome, does he not?”

Betty realizes her mouth is hanging open and closes it abruptly. “Um, yes. It’s….different.” 

“I had these clothes sent all the way from New York City. Isn’t that divine?” Veronica says. She threads her arm through Archie’s, clearly not concerned about any of her guests seeing them together. Betty’s certain her mother would give Veronica a long lecture about _etiquette_ if she were here.

“Divine,” Betty echoes, forcing herself to smile. She feels like she’s intruding upon something as she watches Archie look at Veronica fondly. They’re a perfect pair, radiant and captivating.

Deciding to excuse herself and mumbling something about finding them later, Betty wanders further into the house. She doesn’t recognize a single person, and even if she did, she’s well aware they probably wouldn’t speak to her, anyway. She’d been hoping to have Archie by her side to help her navigate this, but clearly that won’t be the case.

Following the sound of strings down the main corridor, Betty finds herself in the great hall. Several couples sweep around the room, twirling in circles. Betty ignores the twinge in her chest as a vision of her and Archie dancing together flashes through her mind. She needs a new plan for the night, or else she’s going to spend the party wallowing alone. Her mother’s voice invades her thoughts, whispers of “ _T_ _his won’t do, Elizabeth,”_ and “ _It is never proper for a young lady to be at a ball alone.”_

She’s observing the men on the dance floor, contemplating how she could catch someone’s attention when she feels a hand at her elbow. Betty turns, surprised, and sees the last person she expected to be here. 

“Forsythe Jones?” she exclaims, too loudly, and her face reddens. She can’t afford to embarrass herself in front of the only person here who might talk to her. 

He smiles graciously. “Betty Cooper. It’s nice to see you. Oh, and call me Jughead. I haven’t gone by Forsythe in years.”

Betty nods slowly. She doesn’t think she’s actually spoken to him since they were schoolchildren. She’s seen him around town sometimes, but they’ve never so much as exchanged nods.

“So….you know Veronica?” she asks tentatively. If a ball is a strange place for Betty to find herself, she thinks it’s even stranger for him. He’s always seemed like an individualist. 

“My father knows the Lodges. I don’t believe Miss Lodge likes me much, though, to be quite honest,” he says. “I think they invited me for appearances sake.”

Betty purses her lips. “Veronica invited me herself. I thought we might be on our way to becoming good friends, but she seems...distracted with Archie.” _Why am I telling him this?_ Betty wonders. _He’s practically a stranger._

“Ah,” Jughead says. “That’s rather unfortunate.”

“Yes.”

They’re silent for a moment. Betty sighs pointedly, glancing toward the dancing couples and back at Jughead, hoping he’ll catch on. Instead, his eyes dart away from hers and he becomes interested in the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Not one for dancing?” Betty asks, unable to help herself.

Jughead looks relieved by her observation. “No, not particularly.”

“Oh. That’s all right.” She hopes her disappointment isn’t written all over her face.

Betty remains with Jughead for most of the night, managing to find enough idle topics to keep the conversation alive. She pretends not to notice Archie leading Veronica onto the dance floor. Jughead is kind, and unlike Archie, seems interested in talking to her. She tells herself that this is all she needs, that dancing is tiring, anyway. 

After the celebration winds down and Betty has bid farewell to Jughead (A nod from her, a clumsy kiss on her hand from him), she steps outside the front doors of the manor. It’s a clear night, the stars visible in the sky. The pleasant weather is a small comfort as Betty steels herself to walk home. 

Just as she’s gathering her skirt and preparing to journey on foot, someone calls her name.

“Betty! Wait!”

It’s Archie.

Betty’s heart skips a beat. She turns back to see him standing on the steps of the manor, the warm glow of the street lamps turning his hair crimson. Against the backdrop of the night sky, she doesn’t think he’s ever looked more enthralling.

She wonders if he’s about to offer to walk home with her, but then she sees him glance at a nearby carriage.“Veronica arranged a carriage for me...us,” he corrects, looking away quickly. “You know, because we live close to one another.”

Betty pretends not to notice his slip, secretly grateful he thought to include her so she wouldn’t have to venture on foot. “How lovely of her,” she responds evenly. She allows Archie to help her into the carriage, removing her hand from his as soon as she’s seated. Her gaze stays trained on her lap as he sits down across from her.

They don’t speak at first, the sound of horse hooves on the street filling the silence. Eventually, Archie clears his throat.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks. His tone is much too formal for someone speaking to his best friend, and Betty doesn’t like it.

She simply shrugs in response. “I suppose so.” 

A pause. “Was that Forsythe I saw you talking to?”

So he _had_ been paying attention to her. “Yes. He’s going by Jughead now, usually.”

“Ah.”

“Were you- did you have a nice time with Veronica?” Betty asks, failing to sound casual.

“Yes, she’s very beautiful. And kind, of course,” he adds quickly, and Betty can’t help but roll her eyes. Archie may try to act chivalrous at all times, but he’s still a _boy_.

“I’m glad,” Betty tells him. “So you and Veronica are….courting, then?” The words taste sour in her mouth.

Archie ducks his head. “We’ve spoken about it.”

Betty nods once, quickly.

“Veronica- she-” Archie sighs, trying again. “It’s been difficult for us -my mother and I- since my father died in the war. I know you know what that feels like….” He trails off, and Betty meets his eyes. They may never speak about it aloud, but it’s always there. The knowledge of each of their fathers passing two years prior, hanging over them like a fog that only the other can see.

Archie continues. “I like Veronica’s company. And she and her family….they could support us. My mother and I.”

Listening to him speak, Betty understands. She hates that this makes sense, but it does. “I’m happy for you, Arch. Truly. Even if- even if it’s not how I thought things might turn out.”

She doesn’t wait for his response, doesn’t even wait to see his expression, because they’ve stopped in front of her house. Betty hops down from the carriage, clumsily hiking up her dress and hurrying inside.

“Betty,” she hears Archie say, but she doesn’t turn back.

She numbly answers questions from her mother and Polly as they help her out of her gown, running a brush through her hair. _Yes, I saw Veronica. No, of course I didn’t make a fool of myself. Yes, I spoke to a gentleman._ Betty doesn’t mention that the “gentleman” in question is Jughead Jones, assuming their interaction is not the type of connection that would please her mother.

She takes her diary out before she goes to bed, hoping that writing might help to relieve the dull ache in her chest. She can’t seem to form the words, though, and finds herself staring blankly at the paper. A drop of ink drips from her pen, spreading down the page like a teardrop. Betty feels her eyes getting heavy, but her mind is restless, a kaleidoscope of dresses and flushed cheeks and _Archie._

When she finally drifts off to sleep, she dreams of them dancing together under the stars.

_Riverdale, 1868_

Archie doesn’t ask Betty to marry him when they’re eighteen.

He doesn’t ask when they’re nineteen or when they’re twenty, either, but it’s neither of their faults. Betty’s luck has never seemed to be good, and she supposes it’s just another consequence of her misfortune. She thinks maybe Archie should’ve given her a four leaf clover instead of a dandelion all those years ago.

The beginning of her undoing starts on a sunny May morning, when Archie appears outside her front door with his hands in his pockets. Betty feels like she’s watching from outside her body as he tells her his plans to propose to Veronica later that afternoon, and he hopes they can still be friends, hopes nothing will change between them.

“I know it might be…unconventional for us to remain close friends.” Archie says, “but I don’t want things to be any different, Betty.”

“Of course, Arch,” she hears herself replying. “Friends. Always.”

Archie and Veronica marry in August. The celebration is grand and extravagant; Betty would expect nothing less from the Lodges. She convinces Jughead to dance with her, for once, faking a smile every time he steps on her toes.

By the end of the year, she has an engagement ring of her own on her finger.

When Jughead asks her, in front of the fireplace in the small house he shares with his father and sister, saying yes feels like the _thing to do_. Betty’s family is barely scraping by, most of their savings squandered on Polly and her twins. She knows that getting married and getting out of her mother’s house is the best thing she could do for them. She’s tired of feeling like a burden.

“I know we’re young, and I don’t have much to offer you at the moment,” Jughead says, down on one knee. “But I have hopes for my writing career, that I might be able to make a real go of it. That _we_ could.” He clears his throat as he pulls a small box from his pocket. “Will you marry me, Betty?”

Betty thinks about the dream she’d had the night before. And several nights before that, ever since she’d first overheard Jughead murmuring to his father about the whereabouts of his mother’s wedding ring. 

_“Arch, why on Earth are we walking through the forest?”_

_“You’ll see. Soon,” Archie tells her._

_He’s holding her hand, leading her through the brush until they come upon Sweetwater River. It’s late afternoon, the golden sunlight gleaming off the water. Betty couldn’t have imagined a lovelier day._

_Archie turns to face her, biting his lip. Betty’s not sure why he looks so nervous, but she finds it endearing nonetheless. She gives his hand a squeeze._

_“I thought this would be the perfect spot. Just like the first time,” he says._

_She frowns.“Archie, what do you-”_

_Betty’s words falter as he lowers himself onto one knee, grinning up at her. “I’m keeping a promise. Betty Cooper…..will you marry me?”_

Betty looks down at Jughead. He’s _here,_ real and alive and very much _not_ a figment of her dreamscapes.

“Yes,” she says.

_Riverdale, Winter 1869_

Betty and Jughead’s engagement lasts nearly a year.

The day before their wedding, snow is falling outside just as it had the night Jughead proposed. Betty thinks she ought to find the white landscape comforting, serendipitous even, but instead she has a pit in her stomach. She’s also freezing, which is hardly helping. As Betty flits around her house restlessly, partially in an attempt to warm up and partially to avoid her mother’s talk of the wedding, she realizes there’s only one person would may have a chance at distracting her.

Betty doesn’t know for sure that Archie will be at the house next door. She knows he visits his mother frequently, even stays with her sometimes, but she hasn’t seen him there in a few days.

That doesn’t stop her from putting on another pair of stockings under her dress and draping herself in her winter cloak, stepping out into the cold. As she wades through the snow, she realizes she has no idea what she’s going to say to Archie. _Oh, hello, I’ve been feeling uneasy about my wedding to another man and thought you should know about it._

It’s hard for Betty to think about much other than her numb toes, though, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she hears footsteps from inside the Andrews house as soon as she knocks. 

She’s even more relieved when it’s Archie who answers the door, a concerned look on his face. “Betty? Why are you out in the snow? Is everything all right?”

Betty realizes how this probably appears, feeling sheepish. She bites her lip. “Yes, yes, I just….wanted to talk to you.”

“Come in, please,” Archie says, ushering her into his house. “You went outside in this to _talk to me_?”

“Am I not allowed to wish to speak with my _friend_?” she retorts, earning a small smile from him. 

“Sit down. You must be freezing,” he tells her, tossing more wood into the hearth. “Take this.” He retrieves a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around her shoulders. 

Betty’s teeth chatter a little. “Th-thank you, Arch.”

He looks at her for a moment, that concerned expression still present on his face. Betty reaches a hand out from under the blanket, patting the cushion beside her. “You can- you can sit. I promise I’m fine.”

Pursing his lips, Archie takes a seat on the sofa. Betty finds herself wishing he’d move closer to her. 

“What is it you wished to speak with me about?”

Betty sighs. As much as she’d like to make up a lighthearted excuse for her presence, she’s too exhausted (and too cold) to bother. “I….well, you know what tomorrow is.”

Archie looks momentarily confused before his eyes widen. “Your wedding. Oh, wow. That’s great Betty.”

“Yes, it’s just that- that-” Betty sucks in a breath. “I don’t feel….right.”

“How do you mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“How did you feel when you married Veronica? You were excited, weren’t you?” 

Archie’s gaze is unfocused. “You know Veronica and I have a….different sort of relationship. I’m not sure I can compare it to yours.”

Betty knows what he means, and it sparks frustration within her. Archie’s never come right out and said it, but Betty wonders if he feels anything more for Veronica than an appreciation for her money. He seems to be under the impression that Betty and Jughead are different: in love, perfect for each other. Betty wishes she could tell him that their relationships have more in common than he might think.

“Arch,” Betty begins. She huffs, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I just never imagined that _this_ is how my life would turn out. That _this_ is who-” She breaks off, realizing how this sounds. She didn’t come here for his pity.

“I want to please my mother and sister,” she says. “I care about Jughead and his family; I want to make them happy. And this- this is the way.” 

Archie’s quiet for a moment. “But what about your happiness, Betty?” he asks softly.

 _How can he ask me that?_ Betty thinks. _How does he not_ know?

“I’ll be happy. I will,” she says, repeating the words more for her own benefit than his. “Besides, Arch, it doesn’t matter how I feel. What else do you propose I do? Getting married will give me a chance to move out of my house, it will be better for my mother and Polly. And I’ll be able to….to support Jughead. His dreams of being a writer.” She knows her excuses sound hollow. She wills Archie not to say _What about your dreams?_

But he doesn’t say anything at first; he only looks at her with a sadness that makes Betty’s chest hurt. She feels her cheeks heating up, and she shrugs off the warm blanket. 

Archie sighs. “I’m your friend, Betty. Always. If you ever need a place to go, if you feel like it’s too much…..” He meets her eyes, his gaze sincere.

Betty knows his words should comfort her, but instead she feels like sobbing. It’s what she wants to hear him say and yet it isn’t. She can fool herself into thinking she’s perfectly fine with this arrangement, with Archie as her friend at arm’s length, but that won’t make it true. The truth is that they can’t continue spending time alone together, not when they’re both married to other people. It will stir up rumors, cause everyone in town to talk, especially since Archie has married into the most talked about family in Riverdale. 

“Archie, I- I don’t know how to do this,” Betty confesses. “I’m not sure I can be fine with….distancing myself. I shouldn’t have to lose my best friend because of this, it isn’t fair.” She knows her tone sounds desperate, but she isn’t embarrassed, not with him. She tells him this knowing he’ll try to lift her spirits, knowing he won’t simply say " _That’s just how things are, Betty.”_ But when she looks up from her lap to assess his reaction, she doesn’t expect his expression to be so troubled.

She also doesn’t expect him to reach for her hand.

Archie intertwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb over hers. “Still cold,” he comments, the corners of his mouth turning up a little. It makes Betty laugh despite her eyes brimming with tears.

“Betty, I promise you,” he says. “You could never lose me. Even if things- if things have to be different.”

Betty looks down at their hands, catching sight of Archie’s wedding ring pressed against her fingers. This is wrong; they’re not supposed to be together like this, not _allowed_ to be together like this. For God’s sake, her own wedding is tomorrow.

She’s always been good at resisting temptation. Every day she resists the temptation to snap at her overbearing mother, to yell at her sister for ruining their lives, to tell Jughead she thinks his latest writing could use some work. But she’s never been good enough to resist Archie.

Betty knows that keeping him close is reckless. As she looks at him now, his face illuminated by the hearth’s flames, all she can see are years of her life spent longing for him. Whispers of faraway dreams echo in her mind, reminding her of how many times she’s already been burned. 

She finds herself shivering again, and she leans closer to the fire.

_New York City, Spring 1870_

"I'm moving to the city,” Jughead says one morning.

Betty sucks in a breath, knowing that this really means _they’re_ moving to the city. All she can think to say in response is: “That’s…. sudden.” 

Jughead waves a hand. “It’s the only way I’m ever going to get this damned novel into anyone’s hands. I need to speak with publishers face to face.” Betty only nods in response. She can’t exactly argue, since her best reason for wanting to stay in Riverdale is the one thing she can’t tell him about.

Betty wonders sometimes if she could mention her meetings with Archie to Jughead, if she _should._ It isn’t as if they’re doing anything wrong, after all, even if they’ve both wordlessly agreed not to tell anyone about their time together. It’s only a friendship: walks by the river, the occasional picnic at the edge of the forest, afternoons sitting in Archie and Veronica’s parlor and listening to him play their grand piano. The few times that Archie reaches for Betty’s hand, she allows herself to indulge in fantasies of something more, but he always pulls away too soon. 

Betty could tell Jughead about Archie. She could tell him that she doesn’t want to lose her best friend. 

She plans to do it, goes over the conversation in her head, but she never works up the courage. They move to New York City with only Jughead’s meager savings and money tucked away from an overly generous wedding gift courtesy of Veronica.

Their apartment is tidy and private, at least, despite the small size. It’s a step up from the city’s tenements, which also means it’s one step closer to depleting their savings. Betty grits her teeth as the days pass by and Jughead continues to come home discouraged, mumbling short responses as she asks him how his search for a publisher is going. He continues writing new material, and Betty continues reading it, even though he rarely takes her comments into consideration.

Betty finds herself wondering what exactly it is that she’s doing. She goes through the same routine nearly every day, cleaning their apartment a hundred times over and trying to cook something edible from the few goods they can afford. 

To pass the time, she begins writing letters to Archie.

She writes some to Veronica, too, to avoid suspicion. Not that there's anything for anyone to be suspicious about, of course. 

Betty tries to live vicariously through the letters she receives back from him, telling her tales of his life in Riverdale. She tries not to think about the life _she_ could be living, if things were different. 

_Dear Betty,_

_I bought some gingerbread cookies from the bakery in town yesterday. They made me think of you, and how we used to wait outside the shop every day as children hoping Pop Tate would let us have our pick of the day-olds. It’s still strange to be able to choose whatever I’d like._

_Dear Betty,_

_We have horses now. Veronica has been talking about learning to ride, so hopefully I don’t make a complete fool of myself when we take them out tomorrow. She was already pretending to be angry with me when I was unable to suggest a name for mine (Since I’m sure you’re curious to know, I eventually decided on Violet after that goat of ours you used to love, may she rest in peace)._

_Dear Betty,_

_Happy birthday! Or if this is reaching you after, then I hope your birthday was wonderful. It’s strange to not be celebrating with you here. Do you suppose you’ll be visiting Riverdale anytime soon?_

Betty runs her finger over the words. _Do you suppose you’ll be visiting Riverdale anytime soon?_

She wishes she’d never left.

_New York City, Summer 1871_

On a particularly warm July night, Jughead enters their apartment with a grin on his face.

Betty is attempting to open their tiny window for a reprieve from the heat, and she’s caught off guard when she feels his arms around her waist. She’s used to silent entrances, to feet shuffling through the door and paper being tossed on the table.

“I’ve done it,” Jughead says into her ear. “They said they want me. My novel.”

Betty pauses, wanting to savor this moment. She wonders if it could truly mean something, if she’ll finally be able to escape the tedious cycle they’ve been living in for months.

“That’s wonderful, Jug,” she tells him, meaning it.

Over the next few months, Jughead’s writing begins to be published as a serial in the local newspaper. Betty doesn’t expect much at first, if she’s honest, though she _is_ intrigued when he mentions something about a publication in a periodical.

Then she receives a letter from Veronica.

_Betty,_

_I hope you and Jughead are having a positively delightful time in the city. It appears to be so, if the success of his writing is anything to go by! I saw his work as I was looking through my copies of this month’s periodicals. He could be the next Dickens!_

_Please say you’ll come visit us in Riverdale soon. Archie and I would both love to see you._

Betty bristles a little. _Archie and I would both love to see you._ She wonders if Archie talks about her much, with Veronica. 

A part of her hopes he does.

_Riverdale, Winter 1871_

It’s winter again by the time Betty and Jughead visit Riverdale.

Veronica has offered them lodging with her and Archie, because of course she has. Betty tries to hide her discomfort as her trunk is brought inside by Veronica’s butler and placed on the polished wood floor. She supposes it’s better than staying with her mother and sister, at the very least. 

“Betty! Jughead! It’s so lovely to see you,” Veronica says warmly, wrapping Betty in a hug. 

“Thank you for having us,” Jughead answers for both of them.

When Betty catches sight of Archie coming from the parlor to greet them, she has to force herself not to stare.

She thought she was prepared to see him again. They’ve kept up communication through letters, after all, and when she’d imagined his face as she read she’d always assumed he would look just as he had two years earlier. 

Instead, somehow, he’s even more handsome. His hair is a little shorter and his jaw sharper, his clothes perfectly tailored. Betty guesses his attire probably cost the same amount as two months of their rent in New York. 

Archie’s eyes land on her. “Betty,” he says. 

She smiles a little. “Arch.”

Betty’s dimly aware of Veronica clapping her hands together and declaring that they “must be starving,” as she leads them to the dining room. She barely registers Jughead pulling out a chair for her at the table before taking a seat beside her, immediately striking up a conversation with Veronica about the latest instalment of his serial.

Betty picks at the food on her plate, heart skipping a beat when she glances up and catches Archie looking at her. He grins, giving her a wink as Jughead begins gesturing enthusiastically with his spoon.

Dinner concludes after what feels like ages, and Jughead announces that he’s going to turn in for the night. “Need to rest up from our travels,” he tells Betty. “I want to get some writing done tomorrow.” 

“I believe I’m going to head to bed as well,” Veronica adds. She turns to Betty. “If you need anything at all, Archie can show you where it is.”

Betty glances at Archie. She knows they’re both aware that she’s already well-acquainted with the manor, but neither of them volunteer that information. “Thank you,” she replies with a tight-lipped smile.

When Betty and Archie are finally left alone, Betty feels a lump in her throat. 

It’s been so long. _Too_ long.

She isn’t expecting it to be awkward between them, but she also isn’t expecting Archie to smile immediately and reach out his hand. “Come on, I want to take you somewhere,” he says. Betty accepts it hesitantly, feeling him squeeze her hand in his as she takes in the childlike expression on his face. His eyes are twinkling, full of mischief.

She feels as though they're eight years old again.

Archie leads her through the house until they reach the kitchen, spinning to face her once they’re inside. “Here we are.”

Betty raises her eyebrows. “This was your big plan, Arch? The kitchen?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead beginning to rifle through the cupboards. Several boxes are placed on the table in front of her, and Archie opens the first eagerly. “I noticed you didn’t eat much at dinner. I can hardly blame you, considering the flavor of that stew, if I’m honest. It’s unlike Smithers to disappoint, but I have a better idea, anyway. I hope you still like dessert.”

Betty looks down at the spread before them: sponge cake, lemon tarts, tea cookies, some sort of custard, and of course, gingerbread.

She grins. “You certainly know the way to my heart.”

Archie passes her a tart, making a “cheers” motion with his own before taking a bite. “Don’t mention this to Veronica. I believe most of these are supposed to be for one of the Christmas tea socials she’s holding soon.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Betty tells him with a laugh. 

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, and Betty’s struck by how captivating Archie looks when he’s like this. Boyish but grown; innocent but sure of himself.

“I’ve missed this,” she says absently. Then because she can’t help herself: “I’ve missed _you.”_

Archie’s expression is more intense than she’s prepared for. “Me too, Betty. More than you know.”

“Well I’m here now,” she tells him, trying to keep her tone light. “We can make up for lost time. I’m sure we must still know how to have fun, like we used to.”

His eyes sparkle, which Betty knows can only mean he has an idea. “I am fully prepared to have fun. Which brings me to this.” She watches Archie reach into another cabinet and pull out a bottle. “From the Lodges, one of their new vineyards,” he says. 

Betty’s eyes widen. “Won’t someone notice it’s gone missing?”

“Plenty more where this came from,” he replies, shaking his head. He pours a generous amount into a glass and hands it to her. 

After her third glass of wine and about four times as many baked goods, Betty ends up sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, doubled over with laughter. Archie is standing in front of her, one of his legs between her knees and his hands brushing absently along her thighs. Betty swears she can feel the heat of his touch, even through the thick material of her skirts. 

She’s aware of how they must look, faces flushed and much too close to be considered proper, but somehow it only causes her to laugh harder. Archie’s telling her a story about nearly losing his horse while out riding in the forest, and she’s clutching onto his shirt as tears of laughter stream down her face. Betty’s certain the story wouldn’t be nearly as humorous if they hadn’t consumed the entire bottle of wine, but she doesn’t mind the opportunity to be close to Archie.

She leans forward, letting her forehead drop to his shoulder. “I love this, Arch,” she mumbles. “Think I needed it. Hate- hate always having to act so _polite_ and _perfect_ all the time.”

Archie’s hands go still on her thighs, and she feels him slowly move them to settle at her waist. His fingers only graze her sides, but Betty leans into his touch. “I love this, too, Betty,” he says. “It’s….nice.”

His voice is quiet, nearly a whisper. It sends a shiver down Betty’s spine. “You’re a good friend….the best ever, really,” she tells him, her tone matching his. She finds herself tilting her head up to meet his eyes.

“Are you certain that isn’t the wine speaking?” Archie asks. Betty can tell he’s trying to tease her, but his voice catches a little. His eyes flick to her mouth.

“Would never lie to you….” she replies, her hands finding their way from the front of his shirt to around his neck. She reaches up to cup his face with her palm, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone.

“Betty,” he murmurs. His eyes remain on her lips.

They’re so close that Betty can feel his breath on her face. It would only take a small movement, just a slight tilt of her head, if only she could forget herself for a moment….

In typical Betty Cooper fashion, she’s no good at living in the moment. “We shouldn’t,” she manages to say. “We- we mustn’t.”

Archie pulls away, if only slightly at first. “Of course. I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“Arch,” Betty interrupts. She takes his face in her hands. “Don’t apologize; tonight was wonderful. Thank you.”

He smiles, then. “It was my pleasure.”

Betty gingerly slides down from the kitchen table, trying not to sway too much on her feet. “Promise you’ll show me your horse tomorrow?” she asks.

“Of course. Anything you want, Betty.”

For days after, Betty lies awake at night thinking of Archie. She remembers his touch on her waist, the way he smelled faintly of wood smoke, the smile that he saved just for her. Even sleep never offers a reprieve.

He always appears in her dreams with that sparkle in his eye, looking at her like she’s his favorite person in the world.

_Riverdale, Spring 1873_

As Betty walks through the doorway of her new home, she wonders why she isn’t happy.

It’s everything she’s ever wanted, logically. At last she’s living the comfortable life that had always seemed so far out of reach. The house she and Jughead have purchased is a grand estate in Riverdale, a quiet location for him to focus on his work away from the bustle of the city. Betty’s free from concerns about money, and her family’s past is long forgotten. 

Being married to Jughead has brought her wealth and security; she should have every reason to be elated.

Instead, each question about furniture arrangements and hiring house staff and flowers for the garden makes her want to lock herself in her bedroom. When Veronica suggests they host a party to celebrate their new home, Betty is too tired to argue.

“Perhaps a large dinner party, or even a housewarming dance,” Veronica muses as Betty shows her around the house for the first time. “Plenty of space in the foyer and great room….”

Betty nods numbly. “Whichever you think is best.” 

Seeing Betty’s less than eager expression, Veronica gives her a smile. “Don’t fret, Betty, I’ll organize everything! It will be fun.” 

Veronica’s planning results in a ball of sorts, the guests mostly people she knows from her society events and tea parties. Betty doesn’t recognize a soul, and she’d probably be more than a little frustrated that they’re all inside her house if it wasn’t for the sight of Archie walking through the first door.

Betty immediately forgets about the party taking place around her. 

She’s only seen Archie a few times since she and Jughead visited two years prior. They’ve come back to Riverdale from time to time to peruse properties and check in with their families, but she’s never had the opportunity to speak with him for more than a few moments. The older they get, the harder it is for Betty to spend time with Archie and pass it off as “catching up with a childhood friend.” 

She supposes it might be for the best, since she doesn’t entirely trust herself to be alone with him. 

Betty watches Archie’s gaze sweep the room before landing on her. She’s expecting his usual friendly smile, or a warm nod in her direction, but instead his eyes darken. She watches him slowly take her in, gaze lingering.

Betty’s breath hitches as she forces herself to break eye contact. Archie has never looked at her like that before. He’s not _supposed_ to look at her like that.

She spots Jughead nearby, conversing with a few of their guests. Betty strides over to him quickly and links her arm through his. “Jug! Care for a dance?” She winces at the high tone of her voice, hoping she doesn’t sound flustered. 

He glances at her, confused. “Is everything all right? You’re not usually so eager.” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Perfectly.” Betty clears her throat. “It’s just- it’s our celebration. Why not?”

Jughead obliges, albeit reluctantly, and Betty manages to keep him dancing with her for a while. She can tell he’s becoming fatigued based on the way he continues to sigh and look longingly at the food table, but Betty pretends not to notice. 

“Mind if I cut in?” a voice says, startling Betty. “You look as if you could use a break, Jughead.” 

Jughead lets go of Betty, and she turns to see Archie waiting beside them. “That would be wonderful, thank you,” Jughead says, flashing him a smile. “Perhaps _you_ can tire her out, Archie.” Archie chuckles in response, but it sounds forced.

As soon as Jughead’s back is turned, Archie pulls Betty close to him and places a hand on her hip. His other hand grasps hers, leading her into the next dance. It’s a slow waltz, following the tempo of the string quartet playing in the corner of the room.

Betty’s sure her cheeks are flushed as he twirls her. “I had no idea you enjoyed dancing, Arch,” she manages to say, making an attempt at small talk.

“I’m more fond of it now than I used to be. Probably better at it, too,” he replies absently. Betty’s mind is instantly filled with images of him dancing with Veronica at all of her social events. He’s surely had plenty of practice.

She opens her mouth to respond, but she’s caught off guard by the serious expression on his face. “What is it, Arch?”

“I’m just…. I’m glad that you’re back in Riverdale, Betty” he says. 

She swallows. “I’m glad as well. Really, really glad. It’s so good to be home.”

“I’ve missed you, you know. The town isn’t the same without you.” Archie smiles a little, his eyes meeting hers. 

Betty feels as though her throat is closing. “A lot of things aren’t the same,” she manages to reply. 

“You’re right. Feels as though it’s been centuries since we raced home from the schoolhouse and played hide and seek in the woods.”

“You were terrible at that game,” Betty teases, chest warm in the way it always is when they reminisce about their childhoods. “You were much too impatient, always moving about and making noise.”

Archie laughs, squeezing her hand. “I was only concerned that you would get lost in the forest. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“A heroic excuse, if false,” Betty says, grinning when he rolls his eyes amiably. 

She feels as though she and Archie are in their own bubble, despite the noise of the party surrounding them. Dancing with him feels effortless, as if he’s simply an extension of her.

The moment is cut short, of course, when Betty spots Veronica striding toward them. They stop dancing, Archie dropping Betty’s hand as they step to the edge of the dance floor.

“Betty! Are you enjoying yourself?” Veronica chirps. 

_I was before you arrived,_ Betty thinks. “Yes, thank you. The party is so lovely,” she says, hoping the bitterness in her voice isn’t obvious.

Veronica gives Betty a wink, and then she’s whisking Archie away for a dance before she can say another word. Betty huffs out a breath as she’s left alone, searching the room for Jughead or anyone else she might know. She sees a shock of red hair across the room that she thinks might belong to Cheryl Blossom, but she decides she isn’t that desperate yet.

She finds Jughead still near the elaborate spread of food, gesturing enthusiastically as he talks to a man Betty thinks looks vaguely familiar. Making her way in their direction, Betty realizes it’s Reggie Mantle. She’s surprised he’s still in Riverdale; she hasn’t seen him since they were about fifteen. 

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she can hear Reggie saying. “As a businessman myself, I respect it.”

Jughead laughs. “Thank you. I’m planning to begin travelling more for work, as soon as I’m able. I have meetings with publishers lined up in England. If everything goes smoothly, I may even consider relocating.”

Betty’s heart drops. _Publishers in England? Since when?_

Reggie spots her standing behind Jughead, and she thinks he’s going to say hello until he catches sight of the displeased expression on her face. His gaze darts between them before he quickly excuses himself, muttering something about finding a dance partner.

“Jughead,” Betty says flatly. 

Jughead turns to look at her, guilt written all over his face. “Betty. I thought you were-”

She interrupts him. “When were you going to tell me that you’re going to another _continent_ ? To _England_?” 

Jughead purses his lips. “I never meant to upset you. I was planning to mention it, soon.”

“We moved here only _days ago_ , Jughead,” she replies. Then unable to help herself, she adds: “I’m home here. I’m near my friends again, at last.” _Near Archie_.

“I’m sorry, Betty. It’s just that there are opportunities….”

She shakes her head. “We can talk about this later. I am going to go enjoy this party in our new house before we have to move out of it,” she snaps. 

Turning on her heel, Betty storms away from him. She doesn’t return to the party, though, instead making her way to the back of the house and through the kitchen door leading outside. As soon as the door shuts behind her, Betty leans against the stone wall next to it. Her head falls back as she takes a deep breath.

She notices that the weather outside is pleasant, if a little damp. Spring is breaking loose, making the grass dewy and the air earthy, the moonlight casting a blue glow over the ivy growing along the house’s walls.

 _What a beautiful place for things to fall apart,_ Betty thinks.

Then, as if in response to her thoughts, the back door opens to reveal Archie. His face is flushed, like he’d hurried to get there. 

“Arch?”

He lets the door shut, turning to look at her. “Betty? Is everything all right? I saw you run away, and I wondered….” 

The words thrill Betty a little. He’d left the party to chase after her, which is more than she can say for her husband. She could choose to lie, Lord knows she’s good at that, but she’s just so _tired_. “No,” she tells him. “Jughead wants to move to England.”

The shock is evident on Archie’s face. “England. That’s….far away.”

“Yes.”

They look at each for a moment. Betty almost wishes he would _stop_ looking at her, with his eyes so soft and warm.

“Arch,” she says. “Why did you leave to come after me?”

“I was worried. That you were upset.”

Betty might have let it go if his voice hadn’t wavered, if he hadn’t glanced away. “I- I suppose what I truly mean is why do you….care?” she asks.

Archie’s brow furrows. “You’re my best friend, Betty. I always care.”

 _His best friend_. He doesn't sound entirely convinced.

“I don’t want to move away,” Betty says. She takes a step toward him. “Do you know why?”

“If I had to wager a guess….I’d say it’s the same reason _I_ don’t want you to go,” he replies. His voice remains casual, but his eyes tell a different story.

Betty knows they’re moving into dangerous territory, but she can’t quite bring herself to care. She’s been tiptoeing around Archie, around _this_ , for years. “Why don’t you want me to go, Arch?” she whispers. 

“Because.” He sighs, stepping forward and closing the rest of the distance between them. Betty sucks in a breath as his hand finds her cheek. “I miss you every day that you’re not here."

Betty realizes that her hands are on Archie’s chest, and she curls her fingers into his shirt. She hears him exhale as she tugs him closer.

“I missed you too, Arch. Always, every day,” she murmurs, her lips only a breath away from his.

She almost expects him to step back, but his lips remain hovering over hers. “What are we doing, Betty?” he asks. His voice is thick with emotion, sending a chill down Betty’s spine. 

“I don’t know,” she replies. “But….it’s nice, isn’t it?”

She feels Archie stiffen a little, hesitating. _That’s it,_ Betty thinks _, I’ve truly done it now._ She feels herself beginning to flush with embarrassment, an apology on the tip of her tongue.

But before she can pull away, Archie leans down and presses his lips to hers.

Betty reacts immediately, all other thoughts abandoned as she takes his face in her hands. She kisses him back deeply, desperately, the way she’s only ever dreamed of. Archie makes a sound low in his throat as he walks them back a few steps, until Betty is pinned between his body and the wall of the house. She moves to wrap one of her legs around his waist, feeling a few vines of ivy brushing against her back as she readjusts.

“Betty,” Archie breathes. His mouth connects with hers again, lips parting, and Betty lets out an involuntary groan as one of his hands threads into her hair. The other finds its way under her layers of skirts, gripping her thigh through her drawers. 

Archie’s lips travel down her neck, sucking lightly below her jaw and moving a hand to her hip to hold her steady as she shudders. Betty is warm all over, the feeling of his lips sending shocks through her body.

She fists her hands in his shirt, about to kiss him again when a clatter from inside the house makes her blood run cold.

Archie lets go of her as if he’s been burned, his eyes wide. They stand there for several long moments staring at each other, chests heaving, listening to the murmur of voices behind the kitchen door.

Mercifully, the door doesn’t open. Betty hears the voices begin to fade, and she slumps back against the house with a sigh. Archie is running his fingers through his hair, his expression troubled.

“Betty, I’m sorry, perhaps we shouldn’t have-”

“Arch, you are _not_ going to apologize to me,” she says firmly. “Not when this is all I’ve dreamed of for ages.” Betty wonders if she should be admitting this to him, but she reasons that it’s probably too late to bother making up excuses, anyway.

His eyes light up at her words. “I honestly never thought…..I never thought it could be us. Together, like this.” He steps closer to her again, taking her hand. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve thought about this.”

Betty’s sure she wouldn’t believe him if she didn’t already know he’s a terrible liar. All those years she spent wondering, dreaming, wanting….and he was doing the same? 

She decides she has to ask him. She’s had the question on her mind since they were sixteen years old. “Why did you never try, Archie?” she says, her voice coming out small. “Why did you never think that _I_ wanted to try?”

She isn’t expecting him to look so devastated. “I didn’t know, Betty. You were always so perfect, so kind and so beautiful.” He shakes his head. “The only thing I _did_ know was that I couldn’t offer you anything, and you deserved to be with someone like- like _him_ who could give you the world.”

Betty’s chest feels tight. She leans her forehead against his, squeezing his hand. “I never needed the world, Arch, never wanted it for a second. I just needed _you_.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you still, after all this time? Need me?”

“Always, Arch,” Betty whispers. “I’ve never stopped.”

She feels him wrap an arm around her waist, pulling back to study her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t try, Betty. I’m terribly sorry, and I’m not sure I can ever make up for that but…but perhaps we can try now.”

He doesn’t have to explain. Betty knows he doesn’t mean leave their marriages behind and run away together. He doesn’t mean that they should be together for real, in public, as they had been in her childhood fantasies of their life together. 

She knows that trying, for them, means a love made of stolen moments, glances from across the room, a quick brush of fingers in a crowded party. 

Betty’s not sure it’s enough, but she supposes it will have to be.

“Yes, Arch,” she says. “We can try.”

_Riverdale, Summer 1873_

Betty never imagined she would have an affair.

She doesn’t like to think of it in those terms, if she can help it. The word seems too crass, too frivolous, to describe what she has with Archie. An _affair_ is simply town gossip. An _affair_ is what caused Polly to become a pariah.

Betty reasons that this is different, tells herself that she and Archie were bound to end up here, that they’re simply fulfilling some sort of destiny.

She tells herself it’s inevitable every time she catches his eye while no one else is watching. It’s inevitable when they sneak away from her birthday party to kiss in the hall alcove, faces flushed and touch desperate. It’s inevitable when Archie leaves a mark on her neck that she has to cover with powder and a high-necked dress normally reserved for winter.

Having him this way is thrilling at best and torturous at worst. Their time together is usually marked by mere minutes, never able to progress past a few open-mouthed kisses or a caress of his hand under her skirts. Betty tries her best to feel satisfied with it, tries to ignore the part of her that continues to ache for him, to no avail.

Despite her best efforts, she wants Archie _always_.

They continue to exist in this in-between until a sunny morning in August, when Betty catches Jughead staring down at his breakfast plate with a guilty expression on his face. 

Her heart leaps then. She can guess what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth. 

“I’ll be travelling to England imminently. I’m scheduled to leave tomorrow.”

Betty schools her face into an annoyed expression. “I thought you agreed not to leave.”

Jughead sighs. “It will only be for a month, at most.”

 _A month._ A month all alone in this house, for the first time. Betty has to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Well, if I can’t change your mind, then….I hope everything goes well,” she tells him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Thank you, Betty,” he replies. “You should know….it _does_ matter to me.”

She frowns. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Your approval. I value it.” He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips. “I want to have your support, and I apologize if it doesn’t always come across that way.”

Betty tries to ignore the small twinge in her chest. It won’t do to have him looking at her fondly and saying kind things while she’s fantasizing about him leaving. 

She stands up from the table, trying her best to smile. “You have my support, Jug, of course. Your writing is important. If you need to travel, if you believe it’s the best option, then I believe it’s worth it.” Betty wonders if she sounds a little _too_ enthusiastic, but Jughead appears pleased by her affirmations. 

He departs early the next morning, giving her a small smile and a nod as he settles into the carriage parked outside. As soon as it pulls away, Betty feels as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She tries not to skip a little as she walks back inside, noticing their housekeeper, Ethel, waiting in the foyer.

“We’ve received word from Veronica Lodge, requesting your presence at the manor for dinner,” she says.

“Any occasion?” Betty asks, although Veronica rarely needs one,

Ethel shakes her head. “Only that she’s heard about Mr. Jones’s travels and presumed you might like some company.”

Betty nearly laughs. Company is actually one of the last things she’d like at the moment, but she supposes it will give her a chance to speak with Archie.

She quickly discovers that being close to Archie without Jughead nearby is difficult. She has no armor like this, no way to shield herself from her own feelings. The only distraction she has is Veronica, who is thankfully able to speak enough for the both of them.

“I couldn’t believe that someone would have the audacity! Isn’t it astounding, Betty?”

Betty looks up from her food, coughing. She hasn’t got the slightest idea what Veronica is talking about, but she nods and says: “Astounding.”

She sees Archie stifle a laugh from his seat, and Betty finds herself tapping her foot restlessly, needing this meal to be over.

Once they’ve made it through three courses and about four different desserts, Betty notices Veronica yawning from across the table. Seizing the opportunity, Betty pouts with concern. “Are you all right, V?” 

Veronica nods, but she yawns again. “Yes. Yes, I’m perfectly fine, I’m only a bit exhausted from the planning I’ve been doing for the tea party I’m to host this Sunday. You’ll attend, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Betty replies, smiling tightly. “I suppose I should let you rest. It was so kind of you to invite me here.”

“Are you certain-”

“I can walk her out,” Archie interrupts, glancing at Betty.

She blushes, hoping her quick exit isn’t suspicious, but Veronica only waves a hand. “Thank you, Archie. I’ll see you soon, Betty?”

Betty’s cheeks are beginning to hurt from smiling. “Of course.”

Archie walks Betty to the front entrance, stepping outside with her. She can tell he wants to reach out and touch her by the way he wrings his hands together, unsure what to do with them. “Will you be fine alone at home?” he asks.

She laughs. “Yes, Arch, I’ll make do. Though I was hoping I wouldn’t be alone all the time.”

Betty waits for him to understand, watching his eyes darken. “And….when exactly did you have in mind?” 

“Perhaps Sunday afternoon, during a certain tea party,” she says softly.

“A tea party you’re _attending_. One _I_ should likely be present at, as well.”

Betty lowers her eyes. “I’m sure a feigned stomach bug or a forgotten family visit can remedy that.”

Archie’s cheeks are red when she looks at him again. “Sunday,” he says. “Afternoon.”

“Sunday afternoon.”

~

When Betty wakes on Sunday morning, the house is eerily quiet.

She’s confused for a moment, used to the sound of pans in the kitchen or Ethel’s footsteps on the stairs, before remembering she’s provided the house staff with several days off. She’s given them a holiday under the guise of rewarding them for their hard work, presuming that there’s no harm in hiding the truth if it works out in their favor, in the end.

Sometimes Betty is a little scared by how effortlessly she’s able to concoct these plans.

The longer she waits for Archie, the more she begins to fret. She looks in her bedroom mirror, feeling sixteen again as she agonizes over her dress, her hair, the shape of her body. Betty has never felt particularly special or beautiful, not when she knows women like Veronica. And Archie is _married_ to her. Betty wonders if she seems plain to him in comparison, if perhaps her appearance is only an afterthought in his mind. 

It’s late in the afternoon, nearly evening, when she finally hears the sound of footsteps by the front door. Betty is laying on the couch in the parlor, staring up at the moldings on the ceiling as she tries to calm her racing heart.

“Betty?” Archie calls. 

She stands up slowly, padding into the foyer with what she hopes is a confident smile on her face. The tension in her body eases a little as soon as she sees him, looking warm and inviting. She watches his eyes trace over her leisurely, in the way they only can when they’re alone. Betty thinks he might be blushing when he meets her eyes. 

She watches him take a shaky breath. “Betty. You look beautiful.”

Betty starts to restrain herself, prepares to play coy, but realizes there’s no need. This is why she’s invited him here, after all.

She closes the distance between them, pulling Archie into a slow kiss. He goes still for a moment, surprised, before he wraps his hands around her waist and kisses her back. “Where is everyone?” he whispers when she pulls away. 

“On holiday,” Betty tells him, pressing her lips to his again.

She feels him grin against her mouth. “You’ve thought this through.”

Betty wants to keep kissing him, she wants _more_ , but she knows they need to sort a few things out first. Fingers playing with the material of his sleeves, she asks: “When are you expected back home?”

“I took your advice-” He kisses her again. “and invented an excuse. The household believes I’m visiting my mother for a short while. Which I will be…tomorrow.” 

Betty isn’t sure whether she should feel pleased or ashamed that she’s turned Archie into a good liar. 

She laces her arms around his neck. “If we have all night…I believe we need refreshments,” she declares. Archie laughs as she takes his hand, tugging him toward the kitchen. Betty is aware that it’s barely dinner time, the August sun still streaming brightly through the window panes, but she doesn’t want to waste a single moment on pleasantries or small talk. She wants to feel good, to bask in her fleeting freedom.

She had retrieved several wine bottles from their cellar prior to his arrival, placing them neatly on the kitchen table. She giggles when Archie grabs her around the waist as she’s reaching into a cupboard for some glasses. He presses kisses into her neck and Betty leans against him, closing her eyes for a moment. It reminds her of being in another kitchen, in his house instead of hers, when they were still treading carefully around the truth.

They fill their glasses nearly to the brim, taking a sip at the same time. Archie hums, leaning against the kitchen counter across from her. “I’m not sure I’ve tasted this kind before. It’s good.”

“It’s Jughead’s, officially,” Betty says absently, tapping her fingers on her glass. “It’s a bit of a collection.” 

“Ah.” Archie raises his eyebrows, clearly noticing the indifferent manner in which she shares this information, but he doesn’t comment. Truthfully, Betty couldn’t care less about a few bottles disappearing from the cellar; it isn’t as though Jughead will notice, anyway.

She finishes the rest of her glass quickly, enjoying the warm feeling spreading through her veins. Her cheeks feel flushed, and they burn hotter when she sees Archie looking at her with a lazy smile. His face is red with the same rose blush, the late afternoon sun casting him in a golden hue. Betty can’t quite believe it’s possible for someone to be as beautiful as he is.

And he’s hers, at least for a few hours.

Her breath catches as he sets his own glass down, eyes trained on hers. The space between them is charged, a silence with nothing to fill it but the beating of their hearts.

“Arch,” Betty breathes. She watches him swallow, and she gives him a small nod.

That’s all it takes for him to kiss her, his hands holding her face while hers find his shoulders. Betty kisses him back hungrily, selfishly, in the way she doesn’t usually dare. She feels a sheen of sweat forming on her brow; it’s too _hot_ to be dressed in these layers of fabric. Archie appears to have a similar idea, moving his hands to the back of her corset and tugging on the strings. 

“You- you can tear it,” Betty huffs against his mouth, shuddering as she feels his fingers press against her bare back. They’re cold despite the summer heat, his touch sending sparks across her hot skin.

Archie’s teeth graze her bottom lip, causing her to groan. She’s tempted to let him have her right there, in the middle of the house kitchen, but she manages to pull away and place her hands on his chest.

“Archie. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs.” He swallows. “Yes.”

It’s the last time they speak for several minutes.

Betty’s not sure how they find their way to her bedroom, how she winds up straddling Archie’s hips with him in only his pants and her in her chemise. She looks at him for a moment, intertwining their fingers as she leans down to kiss him. He smiles into the kiss when he slides an arm across her back, flipping them over and trailing his fingers across her bare stomach in a way that makes her arch towards him. Betty feels overwhelmed, her heart threatening to burst with the sensation of finally having him _here_.

She remembers the first time, with Jughead. It had been confusing and unremarkable, shrouded in a sense of obligation. She remembers lying beneath him, trying to breath slowly, her mind refusing to catch up to her reality. In all of her dreams and plans for the future, it had always been Archie there with her. Betty remembers being with Jughead physically, but her mind had been elsewhere, dreaming of her hands in red hair and kisses tasting of gingerbread. 

Now, Archie’s lips taste like the wine, and kissing him is better than Betty’s wildest dreams. 

Archie kisses her softly and touches her in all the right places, lets her press her face into his shoulder. When he notices her look of apprehension once she’s completely bare before him, he traces patterns down her body and whispers _Beautiful_ into her neck. Betty thinks this may be the most content she’s ever felt, Archie’s touch bringing forth a glow that spreads all the way to the tips of her toes.

After, she lays beside him as he twirls a piece of her hair around his finger. His other hand is holding one of hers loosely, thumb tracing across her palm. 

“I didn’t know,” Betty says.

Archie turns to face her, leaning on one elbow. “Know what?”

“That it could be like….like _that_ ,” she replies. She begins to blush, feeling foolish considering the things they’ve just done.

Archie presses a soft kiss to her jaw. “It’s never been for me, before. Like that.”

It thrills Betty a little to know that they share this, to know what they have is special. “Arch, I-” _I love you_ , she thinks. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says instead.

“I’ll always be here, Betty,” he murmurs, “You only need to ask.”

They both know it isn’t that simple, but Betty gives him a smile, anyway.

_Riverdale_ , _Spring 1874_

It isn’t a surprise when Jughead announces that they’re moving.

Betty’s been expecting her luck to run out, has been counting on it, really. She’s tried to memorize every detail of her moments with Archie, tried to store enough memories to sustain her once they can’t make new ones anymore. She becomes more reckless as time goes on, daring to sneak out at night to meet him behind the house or inventing an excuse to go on a walk to the river alone. There’s always a fleeting moment of hesitation when she takes these risks, wondering if each time could be the last, but she always manages to dispel her worries each time she sees Archie’s soft smile. She lets herself live in their dreamland for as long as possible.

Eventually, inevitably, there’s no more avoiding the truth of her situation. There isn’t any sort of discussion to be had when Jughead tells her the news. He simply sees her dismayed expression and says: “You’re my _wife,_ Betty. I can’t very well leave you behind.”

There’s no malice in his words, and Betty knows it’s true, as much as she despises it. She’s only a _wife,_ she thinks bitterly, meant to take an interest in _his_ business and _his_ needs. She’s powerless to argue if he wants to move them halfway across the globe. 

A carriage waits outside for them on a mild April morning, only days after Betty learns of Jughead’s plans to leave. The house is packed almost overnight, giving her no time to breathe, no time to figure out how she’s going to say goodbye. She’s sure Jughead has sent word of their departure to Archie and Veronica by now, but she hasn’t heard anything in return.

When Betty steps through her front door for the last time and finds Archie waiting outside, she feels a lump in her throat.

She can tell he’s attempting to keep his expression neutral, a flicker of sadness revealing itself in his eyes. He clears his throat. “Betty. I only wanted to come here to-”

Betty doesn’t allow him to finish, skipping the last few porch steps and throwing her arms around his neck. She prays Jughead stays inside the house for a few moments longer, letting her have this, just one last time.

“I’m sorry, Arch,” she breathes. “If I could’ve stayed….”

He hugs her tighter. “I know, Betty. I know.”

“I’ll write to you,” she tells him quickly. “All the time. So- so don’t go finding a new best friend once I’m gone.”

“You're the only one I need,” Archie says into her hair, one hand rubbing her back. "I should be worried about _you_ forgetting _me_ , once you have your fancy English house, and-"

"That isn't funny, Arch," Betty scolds, unable to keep from smiling when she feels him laugh. She steps back from their embrace, fixing him with a serious look. "I would never forget about you." 

_England, Summer 1877_

At first, Betty waits eagerly for Archie’s letters.

She carefully sorts through the mail before Jughead has a chance to look at it, grinning to herself whenever she spots an envelope addressed to her. For the first year, he sends her something nearly every month. 

When his letters begin to become more infrequent, she tries not to be discouraged. Perhaps he’s simply too busy, she thinks. Perhaps he’s forgotten. 

It takes several more months for her to lose hope.

Now, it’s been over three years since she’s seen him, and almost a year since he’s sent a letter. Betty supposes it was inevitable that they wouldn’t survive the distance. She wonders if Veronica has taken her place in Archie’s heart, if he’s grown to care for her completely, leaving Betty behind.

Desperate for any kind of distraction, Betty throws herself into taking care of their house and helping Jughead with his work. She can’t deny that their home is lovely, a sprawling property in the English countryside with an enormous garden. The people she meets are interesting, which helps, and Betty discovers that hosting parties is not nearly as tedious as she recalls.

It’s as she’s dressing for one of these parties, meant to celebrate the conclusion of Jughead’s latest serial, that she hears a knock at her bedroom door. She looks up to see Jughead there, already clothed in his pants and coat. “I’ve just looked through the mail,” he tells her. He holds up an envelope. “This came, from Archie. It’s been ages since we’ve heard from him, hasn’t it? Has to have been at least three years by now.”

Betty’s heart drops, and she forces herself not to leap forward and snatch the letter from his hand. “Who- who is it addressed to?”

“To you,” Jughead says. “I thought I’d bring it to you in case it’s important, if it’s got to do with your family and the like.”

“Thank you, Jug,” Betty says evenly, accepting the envelope. She waits until he’s disappeared down the hallway before she tears it open, heart racing as her eyes scan the page.

_Dear Betty,_

_I’m praying you take the time to read this letter, and that you don’t simply tear it up straight away. I wouldn’t fault you for that, really, considering the way I stopped writing to you so suddenly. There are so many things I’d like to say, but I’ll try to keep this short._

_Veronica knows about us now. About a year after you left, she opened one of the letters you sent and concluded that it was a little more than friendly. She told me she’d had suspicions for a long while, and I didn’t have it in me to lie when she asked. I stopped writing to you because I felt terribly guilty, and I thought perhaps we’d be able to mend our relationship. We did, for a few short years, but God were we both miserable. We’ve decided to be married in name only, at least for now, and I believe Veronica may even be seeing someone. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s Reggie Mantle._

Betty stops reading for a moment, eyebrows raised. Of all the things she’d expected to read in this letter, she hadn’t expected _that_.

_All of this is besides the point. I’m writing to you because I don’t want to be miserable anymore, because I don’t want it to be too late for us. I want to tell you how I feel about you, how I’ve felt our entire lives, but you deserve better than words on a page. I’m sorry for everything, Betty. The only thing I want to do is make it up to you._

He ends the letter with only his name, providing no further indication of _how_ exactly he wishes to make it up to her. Betty wishes she could tell him that she understands, that she doesn’t need him to atone for trying to do the right thing.

She’s distracted all night, her palms sweaty no matter how many times she discreetly wipes them on her skirt. The celebration for Jughead is perfectly fine, enjoyable even, but Archie’s letter continues to weigh on her. “Are you feeling well?” Jughead whispers to her when he finds her standing alone at the edge of the room.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m just a bit dizzy. Would you mind if I stepped out for a moment, for some fresh air?”

She thinks she probably looks worse than only “a bit dizzy,” but he doesn’t seem to notice. He waves a hand, nodding. “Certainly. I can handle things in here.”

Smiling weakly, Betty ducks her head and makes a bee line for the front entrance. She exchanges pleasantries with the few guests still trickling in before managing to skirt around them, finding her way outside to the house’s stone steps. 

It’s dark by this hour, the only visible light coming from the windows of the house and a sliver of moon above. It’s mercifully quiet, and Betty allows herself to sink down onto the steps, fanning her skirt around her legs.

When she hears footsteps at her back, annoyance flares within her. She turns around, ready to tell whoever it is that she just wants to be alone, and can they _please_ find somewhere else to go.

She doesn’t expect Archie to be the one standing there.

He doesn’t look as different as she expects, three years later. His hair is about the same length, his eyes full of that same warmth as he looks at her. Betty tries to speak, tries to find something to say in greeting, but her voice sticks in her throat. Archie smiles hesitantly. “I’m sorry to show up without an invitation,” he says.

She shakes her head, standing up. “No, no, that’s all right. I’m always glad to see you, Arch,” she manages to say. "I'm only...surprised."

He shifts on his feet. “Did you- did you read my letter?”

Betty smiles a little, despite herself. “Yes. And I have questions.” She glances toward the front doors. “Care for a walk somewhere more private?”

She leads him down the steps and toward the garden, wordlessly reaching down to take his hand in hers. They make their way through the small maze of hedges, neither of them saying a word at first. Betty thinks she might be a little in shock, unable to believe he’s really _here._

Once they’re nearing the center of the garden, safely concealed behind an assortment of rose bushes and ferns, she turns to face him.

“Archie, why did you come here? And _how_ ? It’s- it’s been _three years._ ” Betty feels tears prick at her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed.

Archie runs a hand through his hair. “I'm not sure why I decided to surprise you. Perhaps I should have sent warning, it's just that I needed to see you, I felt that I needed to come-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Do you want to know the truth, Betty? The real, honest-to-God truth about why I traveled across the ocean and bribed one of your party guests to let me ride along in their carriage?”

“Who was it?” Betty asks, the image of Archie bribing someone causing her to smile a little. 

She sees him start to smile, too. “Tall, really proper looking blond gentleman. When I first asked, he looked at me as if I had two heads and asked if I knew who his father was.”

“I’d guess Bret Weston Wallis; he's another author Jughead knows. He’s insufferable.”

Archie laughs, and Betty sighs a little in relief. She’s glad the tension between them has eased, that they haven’t lost their easy rapport. “What I’m trying to say is,” he continues, “I did those things because I was tired of pacing about that gaudy house in Riverdale wishing for another life. Wishing for a life that could be _ours_.”

Betty frowns. “Arch….”

“Betty, I came here because I love you. I’m in love with you.”

The declaration doesn’t shock Betty the way she expects it to. She isn’t left breathless, isn’t left at a loss for words. Instead, her heart feels as though it’s growing in size, a feeling of peace washing over her. As if all has been set right in the world.

Archie is looking at her with a tense expression, trying to gauge her reaction. Betty wonders how he could possibly believe she'd turn him away. 

Not trusting herself to speak yet, she leans forward and kisses him. It catches him off guard a little, his lips still against hers for a moment before his hands find her waist. “I love you too,” Betty says once she pulls away. “I’ve loved you my whole life, if you can believe it.”

Archie wraps his arms tighter around her, pressing his face into her neck. She feels him sigh. “How did we end up here, Betty?” he asks softly. “How do we make this better?”

Betty closes her eyes. She remembers a spring night, a crescent moon like the one above them now, ivy at her back. She remembers what she told him then.

“We try, Arch,” she says.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then Betty feels him reaching for her hand. She expects him to lace their fingers together, but instead he presses something into her palm. It’s small and cold, hard metal.

A ring.

She shudders a little, bringing her palm up closer to look at it. “It belonged to my mother,” Archie says. “Veronica wanted new rings, so I never…..” He trails off, biting his lip. “I know you can’t wear it, but I thought it could be…..for someday.”

Betty aches to slide the ring onto her finger, but she settles for tucking it away in her bodice. “I love it, Arch,” she tells him. She leans her forehead against his. “Someday.”

When Betty goes back inside to the party, when she paints a saccharine smile on her face and pretends to be interested in the superficial conversations around her, she holds onto that promise of _someday._ She laughs and jokes as though nothing is amiss, playing a part that’s as familiar to her as breathing. 

She still sees Archie in her dreams every night, her mind conjuring up worlds where she wears his ring in public, where he’s the one dancing with her at parties. She finds that the dreams don’t fill her with dread the way they used to, though, no longer leaving her aching when she wakes up. Betty allows them to fill her with hope, a glimpse of a life that’s no longer an _if_ but a _when._ She’s waited twenty years for him. She supposes she can wait a little longer. 

They’re inevitable, after all. 


End file.
